


All of me, all of my, my tenderness

by panicked_attack



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Extremis Tony, F/M, Honestly I just used the shit I like, M/M, Mix of MCU and comic lore, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony-centric, everyone is sleeping with everyone, everyone is traumatised, ot7 (kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 16:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19727578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panicked_attack/pseuds/panicked_attack
Summary: For Tony, loving is easy but trusting is hard.He gradually learns that he can't give all of himself to his team without getting them in return.





	1. Natasha

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic ever, and it's completely unbeta'd, sorry for any and all mistakes.

Tony had always had an immense capacity to care. This instinct had long been smothered, at first by his father and Obi, and then by people taking advantage of the potent combination of incredible wealth and incredible generosity. By the time Tony was in his early twenties, he had buried his kind nature under the cold persona of a businessman. It was only after the Avengers formed and began to take up residence in his tower that they began to break through his carefully constructed persona, the hard talking, had drinking businessman slowly cracking open to reveal his kindness. This became more and more apparent after he and Pepper fell apart for the final time, Iron Man finally becoming too much for her to cope with. The Avengers suddenly found themselves with new gear, uniforms, weapons. Everything in their floors was state of the art, everything in the common areas constantly being upgraded and replaced. Despite spending too much time working and training, he was always there for each Avenger when they needed whether they needed to spar, a distraction while in the medical wing, or even just silent company. He always seemed to know exactly what they wanted, what they needed, and was always willing to provide it, no matter what.

Natasha only needs after the missions where her past unexpectedly rears its head. Their tip off leads to an offshoot of the Red Room and they find ten little girls, all braids and knife scars. After turning the girls over SHIELD, she walks into the gym, lithe in black Lycra running shorts and a sports bra. Tony’s beaten her there, already warmed up, loose track pants drawn tight around his hips, singlet stained with motor oil, hands wrapped in protective gloves. He waits patiently, as she stretches and gears up. She’s so in control of her body, her emotions but he can see her minute loss of control in the sharpness and pain in her movements. He doesn’t hold back, knowing how much she’d hate that, and she doesn’t either. These are the only times she’ll let herself go when sparring with Tony. Usually she’s too conscious of his humanity and her own twisted biology, despite knowing that he’s not entirely human, not anymore. They spar for the better part of an hour, before he decides the heave of her chest, the tremble of her hands and the sheen of sweat on her skin blurring into a smear of tears under her eyes is enough and concedes, pulling the head gear off sweat soaked hair. Her posture loosened as she stood up straight, a tangle of bright red hair tumbling from her helmet as she shed her protective gear. She let him take her hand and lead her from the ring to the shower rooms, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the back of her hand. 

After turning on the shower, he turned to her. Reverent in his caresses, callused hands tracing the curves of her body, drawing along the scars lacing her skin, he drew the clothes off of her, guiding her into the water, sitting her on the bench that lined the wall of the showers. He kicked off his soft sweats and stepped into the shower with her, sliding in behind her, leaving on his singlet and cotton boxers. He was so careful in his touches, gently rinsing her hair, combing it with delicate fingers, before washing and conditioning the fine red strands plastered to her pale skin. Extracting himself from between her and the wall, he knelt in front of her, lathering up his hands with soap and washed the residual layer of grime and sweat off her skin. When he heard a little hitch in her breath, his touches went from practical, to pleasurable, fingertips grazing the sides of her breasts, teasing the soft pink of her nipples into hardness. She sighed gently, melting into the wall behind her. On his knees, he worshiped her, kissing the column of her neck, laving her scars with his tongue, leaning down to take one peaked nipple between his lips, pulling gently. His hands skimmed lower, tracing her hips, down to her thighs, pressing the knots from the powerful muscles there before finally slipping between her legs, combing through the red curls and stroking the wet folds there. She muttered a minuscule exclamation under her breath, sagging against the tiles. He worked her delicately, spreading her wetness from her opening over her clit, careful not to dip inside of her. He slid her hips to the edge of the bench, settled back, his mouth, hotter than the water streaming down her skin, pressing wet kisses across her body. When he finally licked into her, tiny little laps at her soaking flesh she groaned and arched up into his mouth, working her hips against him. He worked her clit with his tongue, flicking a consistent pattern over the swollen bud. He looked up at her, through long lashes as she ran a hand through his hair, which had begun to curl in the damp air. She was smiling gently, pulling him tighter against her. He grinned back, a flash of teeth, before increasing his rhythm, one hand drifting down to pull the hood of her clit back, the other skimmed up her ribs, stopping to tease a nipple. He could feel her muscles tightening and her back bowing off the tiled walls. Natasha cursed in Russian, the warmth building, spreading up into her belly before shattering around her. Tony continued to work her clit through her orgasm until she fell into her second one which left her gasping. He licked her clean, carefully avoiding her clit. She tugged on his hair, pulling him up so where she could brush her lips against his. The water turned off and Tony stood, knees creaking, even with the Extremis coursing through his veins and lifted her to her feet, before wrapping her in the plush towels that hung around the room, squeezing the water from her hair and rubbing the water droplets from her skin. 

Once she’s dry and pliant in his arms, and a towel tied around his hips, he leads her to the elevator, up to her floor, using his override code to open the door. When they arrive at her bedroom, he finds the oversized shirt she sleeps in folded neatly under her pillow and helps her into it, the worn cotton sliding pleasantly over her softness. She sits down on the bed and he climbs up behind her, grabbing a brush from the bedside table and gently runs it through her hair, combing the knots out before braiding it tightly, fingers deft with practice. She’s soft in his arms, the pain and anger eased back under her skin for now. He pulls back the sheets and tugs her under them, wrapping himself around her back and pulling her to his chest. She’s still too edgy to sleep though, Tony could feel the residual tension tightening the muscles under her skin, so he skims a hand down her stomach, tracing the lines of her abdominal muscles. His hand reached between her thighs, rough fingertips rubbing gentle circles over her clit. Natasha groaned softly, pleasure coiling in her stomach, arching into the warmth of Tony’s body, his arm tightening around her midriff. His lips found the spot where her neck met her shoulder, his teeth grazing her skin. Tony kept his rhythm steady as Natasha slowly fell apart in his arms, tiny noises dripping from her throat. He could feel her muscles twitching in her thighs and stomach, back heaving against his chest as she came with a cry, his fingers easing her through the waves wringing her body. They lay in a comfortable silence as her breathing eased.

“Thanks Tony”, she finally murmured, feeling him smile against the nape of her neck, pressing a gentle kiss to the soft skin there. He continued to hold her as she drifted off to sleep, easing her through the nightmares that left her tense and angry, soothing the pain. He left before sunrise, so when she woke in the morning she was alone, her past tucked back under her skin.


	2. Thor

Thor always comes and finds him after huge battles which level buildings and cause millions of dollars in damage. Thor has always had difficulty winding down after fighting, but the bigger the battle, the bigger the come down. This particular time, triggered by an invasion of doom bots which had torn through New Jersey, Tony was in his workroom, hammering out dents in his armor and orating to JARVIS his ideas about needle point arrows for Clint, when Thor stormed in dressed in worn jeans and a t-shirt, hair damp and curling from a shower. Tony immediately put down the small hammer he was using and ripped off his safety glasses, before being picked up and slammed into the wall. Tony’s gasp was swallowed by Thor pressing their lips together. They kissed furiously, Tony stretching his legs around Thor’s hips, his hands tangling in Thor’s damp hair, tugging to hear Thor groan deep in his throat. Thor wanted a fight, which is what Tony gave him, biting at his lips and desperately pulling his shirt off. Thor shifted him in his grip, huge hand bruising and pulled him tighter, hips pressing together with stuttered rolls, dragging shocks of pleasure from each other. Tony’s hands slid between them, deftly undoing Thor’s fly and palming his hard, hot length, running his thumb through the pearled drop collecting at the tip. Thor groaned, hands tightening on Tony’s hips. Tony would find hand shaped bruises pressed into his skin the next morning, despite the healing factor of Extremis. Tony worked him slowly, twisting his wrist with each stroke, knowing exactly how Thor needed to be touched. Tony could taste his own blood on Thor’s mouth, teeth having broken skin at some point, their kisses aggressive and bruising, before Tony moved on to the column over Thor’s neck, sucking dark marks onto the golden skin, marks which would disappear by the end of the hour. To escape Thor’s iron grip, Tony sunk his teeth into the space where his neck met his shoulder, Thor groaning and relaxing his hands enough for Tony to slide to the floor, landing on his feet before manhandling Thor in a circle, pressing his back to the wall before dropping to his knees and swallowing Thor’s cock to the root. Tony usually lets Thor fuck him senseless over one of the benches or pressed into the wall, but today he’d been put through a building and the ache still lingered in his bones. Tony bobbed over Thor with a practiced ease that came from years of experience and a complete lack of gag reflex, swallowing the head on the down strokes and teasing it with his tongue on the way back up. He could hear Thor cursing in Asgardian under his breath, and looking up at the god through his eyelashes, could see his hands flexing in time with Tony’s movements. Tony reached up and guided the grasping hands into his hair so Thor could control his head. Thor responded to this change with enthusiasm, holding Tony’s head still and rolling his hips, picking up the pace. Tony was moaning quietly, enjoying the heavy slide of flesh over his tongue and the clean musk of Thor’s scent, the gentle vibrations tightening Thor’s grip in his hair, thrusts becoming looser as he got closer to orgasm. All it took was a graze of teeth and the final slam of Thor’s cock down Tony’s throat before he exploded, Tony’s name spilling from his lips. Tony swallowed easily, before cleaning him off with gentle kitten licks and tucked him away, while Thor leaned into the wall, head thrown back, chest heaving. Finally, Thor looked down and smiled fondly at Tony who, still kneeing, pressed up against Thor’s muscular thighs, grinned back before being lifted to his feet and gently kissed.  


“Do you wish me to..?” Thor began, reaching for Tony’s fly and the hardness underneath, but was interrupted by Tony shaking his head, noting the looseness in Thor’s joints and drooping eyelids as the adrenaline leaked from his system, leaving only exhaustion.  


“Nah, its fine big guy. You go sleep it off.” Tony smiled brightly, his voice hoarse from the pounding his throat had taken, kissing him once more and patting him on the chest. “Do you want to nap here for a bit?” Thor nodded languidly and let Tony shepherd him over to the worn sofa tucked into the corner and wrap him in a blanket which was patched and smelt faintly of smoke. Thor fell asleep to the ringing of a hammer on metal.  


When Tony wakes, smeared in oil and passed out from exhaustion, slumped over a pile of paperwork and blueprints, he finds himself alone, but draped with his blanket.


	3. Clint

Tony is never sure when Clint is going to come to him, but he’s never surprised by his appearance. He finds Clint sitting on the floor outside the lift on Tony’s own floor, having just returned from a long mission for SHIELD. He was still wearing his uniform, his bag sitting next to him. Tony, on the phone to Pepper as the elevator doors opened took one look at the man sprawled on the floor.

“Pep, I need to cancel everything I have today.” 

“What? Tony, you can’t just….” 

“Please. Pepper, I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t important,” Tony’s voice was serious. Pepper sighed, her voice softening. 

“Okay Tony. Call me if you need anything.” 

“Thanks Pep. You’re the best” 

“I know.” 

Tony ends the call, and looks down at Clint whose mouth twisted in a wry smile. 

“It’s still weird that you don’t need a phone to do that. Fucking Extremis man.” Clint’s voice is sharp, contrasting with the apparent ease of his posture. Tony could see his edges though, a tightness in his joints and movements. Tony smirked back at him, and helped him to his feet, before leading Clint to a large bedroom, which Clint had dubbed ‘the dungeon’ after realizing it was where Tony took his partners for sex. He doesn’t think any of the Avengers had made it to Tony’s actual bedroom. He understands that desire for isolation. Tony looks back at Clint from one of the wardrobes he’s digging around in. 

“Go have a shower. I’ll set up here.” 

While Clint’s gone, humming quietly in the shower, Tony pulls out a box of equipment, strips the bed down to its fitted sheets and sets up the straps, attaching a cuff to each corner of the bed frame. Clint spends all his time observing, in total control. When it becomes overwhelming, particularly after long missions, he needs to lose control, be reset, and that’s what Tony is there for. When Clint emerges, water still beading on his arms and chest, a towel covering his already bulging erection, Tony has finished setting up, bed bare of blankets and extra sheets, soft cuffs strapped to each corner and a range of toys and lube lined up on the chest of drawers next to the bed. Tony himself had stripped down to his jeans and stood at the end of the bed, holding a black length of fabric in one hand. 

“May I?” Tony asked gently. Clint nods, allowing Tony to tie the fabric around his eyes, nodding again his consent to the silent question in the touch of Tony’s hands on his hips, the towel dropping to the floor. Tony carefully guides Clint to the bed, lying him face down and stretching him out over the mattress with light touches. 

“Tell me if you need me to stop.” Tony told him as he strapped Clint into the cuffs. He could hear Clint rolling his eyes behind the blindfold, but they both knew he would say stop if overwhelmed. After Clint is spread out and tied down, Tony begins by warming some lube between his fingers and reaching between Clint’s cheeks, massaging the pucker there. He can feel Clint tensing beneath him, a small huff of breath escaping his lips. Sliding one finger inside, he pumps it slowly, stretching him carefully, occasionally grazing the sensitive gland hidden within him. Once Clint has begun to dissolve under his touch, Tony stretches him out with a second finger, silently enjoying the whimpers dripping from his partner’s throat, before choosing a small, vibrating plug and guiding it inside and setting it on its lowest setting. Clint groaned, deep in his chest, his hips grinding his cock into the mattress. Tony wiped the lube left on his fingers on the abandoned towel, before stripping off his jeans, so Clint could feel the warmth of his skin, and climbed over Clint’s body, straddling his hips. That pressure, stilling Clint’s jerked thrusts, pushed the vibrator tighter against Clint’s prostate and increased the press on his cock into the mattress, drawing a choked sob from him. Tony grabbed a bottle of massage oil, doused his hands in it and began working it into the scarred skin of Clint’s back, nimble engineering fingers working the knots from the archer’s powerful muscles. Slowly the tension stored in those muscles melted away under Tony’s kneading hands, leaving Clint limp, gasping with pleasure. Tony slowly moved down his body, working the knotted muscles of his ass, thighs and calves into looseness. When Tony finally stopped touching him, climbing from his hips, Clint whimpered with the loss. 

“You want me to keep touching you?” Tony asked gently, wiping the oil from Clint’s skin with the towel. Clint grunted his assent. Tony mulled it over in his head, as he finished cleaning the oil off his skin. Clint preferred toys when being taken apart like this, it wasn’t like when they had sex for fun, when Clint was bored. That Clint was domineering, pushy and talkative, a filthy mouth and pinching fingers. When Clint needed to let go, he needed to be overwhelmed, to lose control, and the toys were a part of that. They had never discussed Tony fucking him during these experiences. 

“Clint, I need to go get something from the wardrobe, will you be okay on your own for a minute?” Tony quietly asked, right next to Clint’s ear so the hearing aid could pick up his voice. Clint nodded mutely. Before leaving, Tony turned the vibrator up a notch, startling a moan from Clint, who had begun to rock up against the bed again. Tony rummaged around in a cupboard, eventually finding a slim strap-on Pepper had left behind. Cinching the harness over the cloth of his boxer briefs, the base of the toy pressing onto his stomach, just above his own cock, he climbs back onto Clint, warning him of his return with a hand on his back. Turning off the vibrator, Tony eases it from Clint, who was so relaxed his rim continues to gape open after the toy’s removal. Covering the dildo in lube, Tony dips three slippery fingers inside of Clint, testing how ready he is. Clint’s body sucks at the digits, squeezing them against his prostate, shuddering with pleasure. Pulling out, Tony begins to work the strap on into Clint’s pliant body, quickly adjusting the angles of his thrusts to accommodate the unfamiliar position of the dildo. When he slides home, his hips pressing flush against Clint’s ass, Clint groans, long and drawn out, the curve of the toy pressing insistently against his prostate. Tony leaned forward, covering Clint’s skin with his own, not missing the hum of pleasure from Clint. He worked his hips in short sharp strokes to begin with, measuring his movements by Clint’s whimpered reactions, gradually increasing the force of the thrusts until he was pounding into Clint, who was crying out with each thrust, pleading for more, hands grasping at the sheets. Tony could see how close he was, the desperation of his cries and the tense line of his neck. Tony slammed into Clint, grinding the strap on relentlessly into his prostate, the movement pressing Clint’s own cock into the mattress. It was that friction which drove Clint to orgasm, so intense he fell silent, muscles spasming, spine bowed. Tony continued to fuck him through it, the long build up meaning that Clint spiraled into a second orgasm, blacking out as the second release racked his body. Tony carefully pulled out, removing the harness and discarding it on the floor and untied Clint, massaging the skin reddened by Clint’s pulling. By the time Clint comes back to himself, Tony is wrapped around him, having cleaned him up with a damp cloth and pulled them both from the wet patch from the middle of the bed. The tear-soaked blindfold had been removed, lights dimmed and Tony was gently stroking his hair. 

“Wow.” Clint finally breathed. 

“You should send a thank you note to Pepper for leaving that strap-on behind.” Tony grinned, combing through Clint’s sweat soaked hair who hums in contentment. Tony fishes a blanket off the floor and covers the both in it, turning the lights off completely and cradling Clint’s body with his own. 

“How are you not even hard?” Clint mumbled. 

“This was about you, not me” Tony shrugged, kissing the back of the archer’s neck. 

“You’re such a fucking sap,” Clint smirked, pressing up against Tony, who snorted a laugh. 

“Go the fuck to sleep.” 

Clint wakes in the morning to Tony kissing him on the forehead before creeping from the room.


	4. Bruce

Bruce comes to him so rarely, that every time they finish, Tony finds himself considering that this time might be the last time. This particular occasion, it’s been well over six months since he last needed him. Its two days since the Avengers last mission. They didn’t need the Hulk, but it was a close call, and Tony has a suspicion that the rage was crawling under Bruce’s skin, desperate for release. So, he isn’t surprised when Bruce comes interrupts a debate he’s having with Steve and Bucky about weapons upgrades.

“Tony?” Tony looks up from some blueprints he’s spread in front of the two super soldiers. Bruce is quiet, pressed against the doorframe, almost trying to crawl back into himself. 

“You need me in the lab?” Tony asks. His voice is casual, but his eyes are soft, reassuring Bruce’s anxiety at the others maybe guessing why he was there. Bruce just nods silently, focused on Tony’s face. Turning back to the men pouring over his plans, he says something inane about talking to them later, and they nod, still engrossed in the blueprints. Tony follows him to the elevator, letting him lead the way. As soon as the doors slide closed Tony finds himself slammed into the wall, head wrenched back by his hair, Bruce nipping at his lips. Tony softens in his arms, groaning deep in his chest. Bruce’s grip is bruising, tearing open the button of Tony’s jeans and gripping his ass, pulling his hips against his own. They stumble out on Bruce’s floor and Tony finds himself pushed against the wall, shirt hitched up under his armpits and Bruce’s blunt nails dragging down his back. Tony made quick work of the buttons of the other man’s shirt. 

“On your knees,” Bruce growled, eyes turning green. Tony groaned, cock aching, dropping to the floor and tilting his head back to look up at him. He rubbed his cheek against the bulge in Bruce’s jeans, carefully undoing his fly with his teeth. Bruce ran his hand through Tony’s hair, before gripping the strands and guiding his mouth to his cock which was peeking through his fly. Using his hair as a handle, Bruce fucked into his mouth with short harsh strokes which left Tony leaking into his jeans. Suddenly Bruce stopped thrusting and hauled Tony to his feet, dragging him towards the bedroom. They got caught against the door, Tony struggling with the door handle as Bruce ground their erections together, biting at his neck, leaving dark marks on golden skin. The handle finally gave way and they tumbled through the doorway, Tony ending up pinned on the bed. They both pulled at each other’s clothes, Bruce’s skin gaining a green tinge as he tore Tony’s jeans off of him, revealing that he’d gone commando that day. Skin pressed again skin, sweat slicking their movements as Bruce rummaged through the nightstand for the lube. Dropping the bottle onto the tangled sheets, Bruce’s hands dug into Tony’s hips, flipping him over onto his hands and knees. Tony stretched languidly, arching into the sheets, nipples grazing the cotton, arms reaching above his head to grip the headboard. Bruce fumbled with the lube for a moment before two of his fingers were pressing into Tony, blunt and insistent. Tony groaned and pushed back into the touch. He wasn’t ready for the third finger that was shoved into him but enjoyed the burning stretch, knowing he’d feel this for hours. Suddenly Bruce’s fingers are gone, and his cock is splitting Tony in half, leaving him gasping for air, overwhelmingly full. 

“Oh fuck, Bruce…” Tony choked out, pulling the sheets so hard they tore under his nails. Bruce gave him a second to adjust, before slamming into him, thrusting hard enough to redden the skin on Tony’s thighs. Tony couldn’t breathe, his own orgasm building incessantly, threatening to drown him. Bruce growled, grabbing Tony by the hair and wrenching him back, using the extra leverage to fuck into him harder. The sting of his hair being pulled sent a lightning bolt of pleasure of down his spine to his cock, and he went silent as his orgasm tore through him, leaving him boneless. The clenching of Tony’s body was enough to send Bruce tumbling over the edge, who shouted as he came, collapsing on top of Tony. Both men lay motionless, gasping for air as the sweat began to cool on their skin. Finally, Bruce shifted, pulling out of a wincing Tony. 

“Are you alright?” Bruce whispered, anxiety tingeing his voice. Tony mustered up the energy to roll over, turning to face him. 

“I feel great. That was awesome.” Tony reached over to grab Bruce’s hand, pressing a kiss into his palm. “Are you okay?” Bruce sighed. 

“I feel better. Thanks Tony.” 

“I feel like I should be the one thanking you,” Tony smiled, shoving aside the soiled sheets. “Let me hold you for a bit?” The sadness in Bruce’s eyes eased as he rolled over so Tony could wrap himself around him, pressing another kiss into Bruce’s neck.


	5. Steve

Steve comes to him when Tony recklessly endangers himself. This time Tony had just been cleared by medical at SHIELD after taking down a building with his body and found himself being hauled into an empty conference room and pressed against the closed door by an angry super soldier.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Steve snarled, biting Tony’s neck, who arched into him, groaning. 

“Obviously I wasn’t,” Tony ground out before Steve caught his mouth in a bruising kiss and lifted him off the floor so Tony’s legs could wrap around Steve’s hips. Tony ground against him, gasping for air between searing kisses. 

“You need to be more careful,” Steve told him, carrying him over to the huge wooden table which filled the space and depositing him on the surface. Perched on the edge, Tony’s spread thighs bracketed Steve’s hips at the perfect height for them to rock desperately against one another. Tony could feel the hard length of Steve hot and ready through the denim of their jeans. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Tony hissed. His shirt was torn from his body, Steve growling deep in his throat, Tony’s own hands ripping off Steve’s white t-shirt. “Just fuck me Captain.” He saw Steve’s pupils blow out, the last of Steve’s control slipping away from him. They yanked at each other’s flies, Steve managing to shed Tony of his jeans, while Tony was only able to undo Steve’s belt and jeans enough so he could pull out Steve’s cock. Before he could think, he was slammed back into the table, wrists pinned by one of Steve’s huge hands, the other hand pulling a condom from his back pocket, tearing it open with his teeth and putting it on one-handed. Tony was about to make a Boy Scout joke when Steve pulled out a sachet of lube, but found himself impaled on a slick finger before he could utter a word. The sound that tore from Tony’s throat when Steve found his prostate would have been embarrassing if he were with anyone else, but Steve just responded by adding another finger, leaving Tony bowing off the table. “Fuck, Steve…” Tony groaned pulling against Steve’s hand. When Steve stretched him with a third finger, the burn sending shooting pleasure up his spine, Tony cursed, pressing his hips into Steve’s thrusting hand. Realizing he was ready, Steve slicked up his cock and hauled Tony’s legs to his chest, Steve’s elbows catching under Tony’s knees. When Steve slid into Tony’s willing body, Tony shouts, pressing into Steve’s weight. He’s still tight, Steve prepping him enough so he can slide inside, but not enough as to remove the burn, knowing Tony liked that edge of pain. Steve slams into the tight heat of Tony’s body, leaving Tony a whimpering mess. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, harder Steve,” Tony begged, hips stuttering under the brutal onslaught of Steve’s thrusts, pleasure sharp and twisting. Steve’s hips increase their pace, pounding into Tony’s willing body with the sound of skin slapping against skin. Tiny sounds of pleasure dripped from Tony’s lips as he sunk into the table, wrists still pinned under one of Steve’s huge hands. The other one of Steve’s hands, still slippery with lube wrapped around Tony’s aching cock, and with a twist of his wrist, Tony froze before coming into Steve’s hand, pleasure exploding up his spine and dancing across his skin. Steve gave Tony a moment to breathe, who was lying boneless on the table gasping, wiping his hand on an abandoned shirt. Once Tony’s limbs had stopped trembling, Steve found himself shoved backwards into a chair and climbed on top of. Tony kissed him fiercely, nipping at his bottom lip, before impaling himself on Steve’s cock. They both gasped at the sensation, Steve’s head smacking back into the chair, Tony arching so hard his back cracked. 

“Tony…” Steve groaned, gripping Tony’s hips and rocking him against him. “Fuck, Tony.” Tony rose up onto his knees and slammed down, his movements frenzied. Steve’s fingers pressed bruises into Tony’s skin as he guided Tony’s fast paced rise and fall. Tony nipped at Steve’s neck, panting heavily, Steve whispering praise into Tony’s hair. Tony’s brutal pace began to slow, hips slipping into a sensuous roll. Steve adjusted to the changed movements, grip gentling, one hand drifting up to Tony’s neck to cup his head. Their eyes locked as they moved together, stealing the breath from each other’s lips. The raw intimacy of their position both frightened and aroused Tony as he continued to ride Steve, slipping against the slickness of his skin. Steve groaned, choking out Tony’s name as he broke, spilling inside of Tony. 

“Fuck,” Steve muttered, as the both gasped for air, resting against each other. Steve moved his hand from its place on Tony’s jaw, up to card through his hair. Tony’s breath hitched, and he began to disentangle himself, avoiding the intimate touch. 

“I can’t believe you destroyed my shirt again,” Tony laughed, eyes bright as he climbed gingerly off of Steve’s lap. “I’m going to have to fly back to the Tower. Want a lift?” Tony could see the suspicion in the slight wrinkle over Steve’s brows. “I wanna get back before I leak everywhere,” Tony deflected pulling on his jeans, wincing slightly as the healing bruises twinged. Steve smiled gently, understanding in his eyes, as he stood, pulling his own jeans back over his hips and rebuckle his belt. “You good to go?” Tony asked, the suit began to creep out of his bones, coating his body. Steve grinned, tugging his shirt back on. 

“Whenever you are Shellhead”


	6. Bucky

Tony had been expecting Bucky. The other man had been acting oddly for nine days. Tony had let Bucky take the lead on their slowly developing friendship. He understood the guilt that plagued him, both of them being made into unwilling weapons by monsters. There had been a time when Bucky had avoided Tony, as every time he looked at Tony’s face, all he could see was Maria Stark’s eyes. After Tony had built him an arm, they had begun to spend more time together, Bucky coming to him for maintenance, and finding refuge in the chaos of Tony’s workshop and mind. He liked that Tony never treated him like glass or a live grenade, teasing him and relaxing around him. He treasured the times when Tony trusted him completely, falling asleep near him or even on him in the workshop when Bucky hung out. They had become friends over the year since Bucky had arrived, both men finding the chance to discover who they wanted to be without the weight of expectations. Then Bucky had disappeared. A week later, Bucky returned to the workshop.

“Hey Bucky, what’s up?” Tony asked, shutting down the holograms surrounding him. 

“I have a question.” Bucky offered, hesitantly. Tony just nodded, heading over to sit on the sofa. Bucky sat next to him, turning to face him. “I overheard Clint and Natasha talking about…having sex with you. And then I spoke to Bruce, and he got all embarrassed and blushed when I asked if you were seeing anyone. I’ve known Steve has been sleeping with someone for a while, and I saw Thor leaving here a few weeks ago and you were moving oddly, which suggested you two had fucked.” Bucky dragged a mental hand through his hair. “So I know you’re sleeping with everyone. Which means I guess my question is, why?” Tony sighed and leaned back against the back of the sofa. 

“Normally I connect with people by giving them things. I knew I tended to go overboard, but it’s always been my way of showing people that I listen, and I care. But I found with the rest of the Avengers, it made them feel weird. I was so used to being around people who wanted to be around me for my money or connections, that I had forgotten how to be around people who wanted me for anything else. So, I started sleeping with everyone so I could give them comfort. I’m not good with words, or the emotional stuff but I’m good at sex, and I was able to work out what they wanted and needed. It also made everyone more comfortable with me giving them shit since it created an emotional connection.” Bucky nodded slowly; brow creased in consideration. 

“But do you want it? Enjoy it?” he asked, voice soft. Tony paused, noting the haunted look on Bucky’s face. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I like making them feel good. I love them and this is just another way I can show them that. I’ve had a lot of sex I haven’t wanted. I’ve been forced to do a lot of things I didn’t want to do. After Afghanistan I decided I wouldn’t let anyone force me to do anything I didn’t want to do anymore. So yeah. I wanted it and enjoyed it.” Tony trailed off, feeling vulnerable. The concern in Bucky’s eyes eased, tension bleeding from his body. 

“Why haven’t you tried to sleep with me?” Bucky asked. Tony smiled. 

“You’ve had your autonomy violated so many times, I wasn’t about to do that to you too. I figured if you wanted to fuck, you’d eventually let me know.” 

“So, you would sleep with me?” 

“Have you seen you? You’re ridiculously hot, your body is amazing, and you have a robot arm I made. What’s not to want? You’re also funny and charming and really smart. It’s a little unfair actually.” Tony mused. Bucky smiled, leaning forward. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, man. If you wanted, I’d let you bang me like a broken door in a hurricane.” Tony couldn’t stop the grin that bloomed when Bucky laughed, watching the joy light up his face. He could see the ghost of the man he had once been in that laugh. Tony held his breath as Bucky slowly reached out with his flesh and bone hand, brushing the back of his fingers over Tony’s cheek and jaw. Catching Tony’s chin with a finger, he drew him forward, capturing his mouth with a kiss. Tony shivered at the tentative touch. They continued to kiss, their only points of contact their lips and Bucky’s hand on Tony’s face, his thumb gently stroking his cheek. When they finally separated, Tony couldn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky’s lips, which were swollen and red. 

“You weren’t exaggerating.” Bucky breathed. “You are good.” Tony grinned. 

“You’re no slouch either.” Bucky smiled and pulled him back in. Bucky’s metal hand swept down Tony’s neck, down his ribs to his waist, goosebumps following the trail of his hand. Bucky gently guided Tony closer, hooking under his knee with his metal hand, lifting Tony’s leg over his own so Tony ends up straddled over Bucky’s lap. Tony buried his hands into Bucky’s hair, carefully removing the hair band keeping Bucky’s hair up. Bucky couldn’t stop kissing Tony, enjoying how soft and pliant Tony had become in his arms and the warm weight of him pressed into his body. 

“Is this okay?” Bucky whispered against Tony’s mouth, running his hands down Tony’s ribcage. Tony nodded, eyes hooded. Bucky’s hands crept under the tank top Tony was wearing, stroking his chest, his sides and his back, enjoying the way Tony twitched under the attention. His shirt was eased over his head, before Bucky was back to cupping his face, deepening their kisses. Tony carefully traced his fingertips over Bucky’s neck, down his chest and under the hem of his shirt, running his hands over the scarred skin of Bucky’s torso, feeling the muscles tighten under his fingers. He echoed Bucky’s earlier move, pulling Bucky’s shirt off, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of Bucky’s bare chest. 

“You’re beautiful,” Tony breathed. Bucky grinned. 

“Thanks Doll,” he drawled, moving from his mouth to kiss down his jaw and neck, dragging his stubble over the sensitive skin of Tony’s throat. Tony dropped his head back in surrender, groaning deep in his chest. Tony suddenly found himself moving, being lifted and flipped onto his back, Bucky’s weight pressing him into the sofa cushions. Bucky kept moving, kissing down Tony’s chest, stopping to flick his tongue over a nipple. He could feel the miniscule flinch Tony tried to hide when his hand pressed over Tony’s sternum. “Sorry,” he murmured against Tony’s ribs, pressing a quick kiss over the area. 

“It’s all good. Just some minor unresolved trauma,” Tony grinned. Bucky paused, looking up at him. 

“You’re way too cavalier about that.” Tony shrugged. 

“Like you can talk. It’s all psychosomatic anyway. All the physiological damage is gone…” Tony’s voice trailed off, and he traced a finger over Bucky’s bottom lip, trying to distract him. 

“Not a talker huh?” 

“No reason to talk if no one's listening...” Tony offered, choking slightly on the final syllable as Bucky drew Tony’s finger into his mouth, sucking, the sensation shooting down to his cock. Nimble fingers undid Tony’s jeans, Bucky sliding further down the sofa, settling between his legs so he could pull the denim off. Releasing Tony’s finger, Bucky sucked marks down Tony’s side, biting his hip. Tony bit his lip, silencing the gasps threatening to escape. 

“I want to hear you,” Bucky breathed, licking a stripe up Tony’s erection. "We all want to hear you." Before Tony could respond, Bucky took him in his mouth, sinking down far enough so his nose brushed Tony’s stomach. 

“Oh fuck,” Tony choked out, freezing so he didn’t thrust into Bucky’s throat. Bucky moved slowly, mouth hot and wet, tongue swirling under the head of Tony’s cock. 

“Extremis means you can come more than once?” Bucky asked, voice hoarse. 

“What? Yeah, why?” Tony gasped. 

“I want to taste you.” Bucky replied, pinning Tony’s hips to the sofa and taking him back into his throat. Tony gripped the cushion, crying out at the sudden stimulation. Bucky looked up through his lashes at Tony, pupils blown, the sight of Bucky's plush lips stretched over Tony's cock making Tony burn. Bucky was obviously enjoying himself, working his hips against the sofa, a promise of things to come. Tony could feel Bucky's tongue flicking over the underside of his cock, tracing the veins, then swallowing around the head, making Tony choke on the air in his lungs. Tony couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed at how quickly his orgasm was building, too overwhelmed by the the knot of pleasure twisting painfully in his groin. When Bucky hummed the vibrations shot up the length of Tony's cock and Tony exploded, mouth open in a silent cry, trembling at the force of his orgasm. Once Tony went limp, Bucky released him, kissing the crease of his thigh. 

“Holy shit” Tony ground out between breathes. He looked down at Bucky as he began to move Tony’s legs. “What are you doin-Jesus Christ!” Tony arched violently as Bucky folded his legs onto his chest, and flicked his tongue over the furl of Tony’s asshole. Bucky moved tortuously slowly, drawing out Tony’s pleasure with long, slow swipes of his tongue. “Fuck, fuck, fuck” Tony whimpered, hips rocking against the exquisite pressure of Bucky’s mouth. Tony couldn’t stop the noise spilling from his throat, pleasure coiling at the base of his spine, arms thrown over his head to clutch to armrest of the sofa. He had hardened again, the brush of his hard cock against his stomach shooting shocks of painful pleasure into his belly. 

“You’re so sensitive, Tony, you’re doing so well” Bucky crooned, thrusting his tongue into the pliant softness of Tony’s body. Tony whimpered in response, going limp at the praise. Tony bit back his desire to beg. Bucky needed to be in control, Tony wasn’t going to change that. When Bucky sucked, Tony saw stars, vision whiting out. With a final brush of his lips, Bucky began to move back up Tony’s body, peppering kisses along Tony’s heaving ribcage. Bucky looked wreaked, his pupils dilated, lips red and swollen, hair tangled, chin and stubble slick with spit. Their eyes locked, Tony reaching down to comb his hand through the mess of Bucky’s hair. “Can I fuck you?” Bucky breathed. 

“Please do.” Tony cupped Bucky’s face in his hands, drawing him close and kissing him. They kissed lazily, Tony licking into his mouth, arching into the heavy press of Bucky’s weight. “Please…” Bucky pulled away enough undo his own jeans, the pair of them pushing them down far enough so Bucky could kick them off, Tony unable to look away from Bucky’s leaking cock. Bucky, noting Tony’s interest, eased 2 metal fingers into Tony’s mouth, groaning at the muted sensation of suction picked up by the sensors Tony had built into the arm. Tony whimpered at the loss of the fingers when Bucky pulled away, only to choke on the small noise when the fingers probed Tony’s asshole, sinking into the softened heat of Tony’s body. Tony couldn’t help but groan as he clenched around the warmed metal, the knowledge what was stretching him out arousing him as much as the sensation itself. He wanted to beg to be pinned down and fucked through the sofa, handprints pressed into his skin, lips bitten raw. The intimacy of Bucky staring into his eyes, caressing his face, brushing kisses over his swollen lips while stretching him thoroughly was too much for him to handle. But it was Bucky’s turn to call the shots. 

“Are you ready?” Bucky asked against Tony’s mouth. Tony just nodded, unable to trust his voice not to tremble like his hands, which he hid in Bucky’s hair. Spitting into his palm, he slicked up his cock, gritting his teeth at the sensation of his hand dragging over his sensitive length. Hitching one of Tony’s legs over his hip, Bucky wrapped it around his waist as he sunk it the welcoming clutch of Tony’s body. Tony went limp, yielding to the stretch and the pleasure that warmed his belly, the feeling of fullness relieving the ache that had been building since they had first kissed. They moved against each other, Bucky fucking into Tony with gentle, rolling strokes, each rounded off with a grind of his hips which dragged over the sensitive gland. The slow pace was brutal in its effectiveness. There was no room for anything else, just the unrelenting glide of Bucky’s cock fucking Tony open, the pleasure pulling Tony apart. Their lips brushed as they shared breath, stealing the air from each others lungs, and Bucky began to murmur in Russian, causing Tony to shudder. 

_“So beautiful, so fucking beautiful. You’re so good for me. Has anyone ever told how good you feel? You take such good care of us, now I’m going to take care of you.”_ Tony gasped for air, tears blurring his vision, the pleasure intensifying, each thrust sending lightning shooting up his spine, into his fingertips. _“Are-are you close?”_

“Sì, sì, per favore" Tony slipped into his mother's tongue as he begged, tears spilling over. Bucky caught the tear, gently swiping it away with his thumb. 

“I’ve got you Tony,” he whispered against Tony’s lips. Tony’s orgasm hit like a repulsor to the chest, his body freezing, shattering apart in Bucky’s arms, their eyes locked. Bucky paused, giving Tony a chance to catch his breath. After a moment, Tony relaxed, his grip on Bucky easing. 

“I’m good, keep going,” Tony whispered, hands moving from Bucky’s shoulders to his face. Bucky rested his forehead against Tony’s and began to move again, rocking his hips into Tony, who used his legs to work himself against the press of Bucky's thrusts. 

“Fuck, Tony…” Bucky groaned, at the mercy of the clenching of Tony’s body. His orgasm was just out of reach, a tight coil of pressure in the base of his spine. He trailed a metal hand down the side of Tony’s face, tracing over his cheekbone and down the curve of his jaw, coming to rest over his throat. When Tony arched his head back, submitting to the press of Bucky’s hand, Bucky came, thrusts becoming jerky as he wrung the last of his pleasure from Tony’s willing body. Once Bucky’ heart-rate began to slow, he gathered Tony into his arms, brushing kisses over Tony’s eyes, cheeks, nose and lips. Tony looked up at him, lashes still wet from tears. 

“Jesus.” 

“James actually. But you’re pretty close.” Tony laughed, delighted at the joke. They fell into a comfortable silence, examining each other’s faces. “So what now?” Bucky finally asked. Tony shrugged. 

“I have a shower down here if you wanna join me? Then I dunno, we could see if anyone’s free and go get some food?” 

“Sounds like a plan.” Bucky replied, carefully pulling out of Tony, who hissed through his teeth. “Thank you Tony.” 

“What are you thanking me for, you’re the one who got me off twi…” Bucky interrupted with another soft kiss. 

“You know why. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets off on being trusted


	7. All

Tony began to realise that despite his best attempt to keep the other Avengers at arm’s length, they were beginning to broach his defenses. He wasn't just taking care of them, they were looking out for him. They seemed to know what he needed, even when he didn't.

When he felt trapped by the life that had fallen into place around him, Natasha would dress him up and take him out to seedy clubs he had explored in his youth. They’d compete to see who could score the most free drinks, and dance together in the center of pulsing crowds, eerily graceful while grinding in a sea of bodies. They’d bounce from club to club until their bones ached from the bass, then make a game of sneaking home, avoiding the flash of paparazzi and stares of fans, their sweat stained clothes, tangled hair and smeared makeup obvious in the harsh light of day. 

When Tony needs to reminisce, Thor will find Tony on top of the Avengers Tower, bringing flasks of Asgardian ale, the only thing potent enough to get the two of them drunk. They’d drink and talk, regaling each other with stories of battles won, countries seen, and men and women conquered. After getting drunk, they’d tell stories of the horrors they’d seen, mistakes they’d made, atrocities they’d committed. Thor taught him Asgardian battle hymns, Tony played him 70s rock music, and when they got to sad, they’d sing, cry, fuck or fight, flinging each other through the air. Tony’s favorite nights were when Thor would summon a storm, and they’d howl into the wind. They learned that when Tony was struck by lightning it sent an exhilarating rush through him, whiting him out, leaving him tingling and empty. They’d wake up in the morning on a strange rooftops, before flying home to nurse coffees in the kitchen with the lights dimmed. 

When he felt wound tight and restless, Clint would find him and challenge him to stupid competitions. They had prank wars, dragging the other Avengers into their games. Tony designed training simulations and obstacle courses and they’d alternate between trying to beat each other or trying to beat Friday. They’d shoot robots, play extreme laser tag and spar, and sometime take the fight into bed, tumble into the sheets together. Clint taught Tony to shoot a bow, and they would test Tony’s Extremis reflexes by having Clint shoot arrows at him. When one or both were nursing injuries, they’d play video games, pressed thigh to thigh on the sofa, Tony restricted to using the controller only, no “Extremis bullshit”. The night would end when Natasha would come and join them, kicking both their asses and sending them off to rest. 

When Tony got stuck, Bruce would come and find Tony and pepper him with questions about his own work until the distraction caused a breakthrough. They would collaborate on projects and if they were both feeling morose, would create explosives and blow themselves through the safety glass, or create foam monstrosities by mixing together chemicals. Bruce would coax Tony from his lab with promises of food and coffee. He would let Tony prod him until the Hulk burst forth, then would chase Tony around the Tower, laughing and roaring in delight. Post-Hulk, they’d curl up together in a workshop or bedroom and fall asleep in a tangle, both honored by the trust each man had in the other. 

Steve would set himself up as a foil for Tony when the anger and self-loathing boiled over, provoking Tony til he’d explode. They’d scream themselves hoarse, before someone snapped and threw a punch. Sometimes their fights would be brutal demonstrations of their skills, co-ordinated and disciplined, other times it would devolve into messy brawling, wrestling on the floor in an ugly tangle. In the aftermath, they’d patch each other up to avoid the wrath of Fury and the SHEILD medical team and talk shit, ribbing each other about whatever stupid thing they’d fought about. They would go out and find diners to try, on a mission to try every cheeseburger in New York. When they both couldn’t sleep, dreaming of the cold, or the heat or the sensation of water filling their lungs, they would sit together in the darkened movie room and power through decades of pop culture, drowning their demons in the light of the screen. 

Bucky was a silent shadow in Tony’s workshop, keeping him company through the long nights Tony would spend working. He’d let Tony explain complex equations and ideas to him, and he’d ask questions, trying to learn and keep up. He’d let Tony work on his arm, and they’d listen to music together, Bucky gradually learning what he liked. Bucky would sit and read to Tony when the noise of Extremis got too loud, letting Tony focus on the sound of his voice. They’d have long chess tournaments, both men sitting silent and still, completely focused on the game at hand. When Tony fell asleep in the lab, Bucky would carry him to the sofa, holding him when the nightmares surfaced and allowing Tony to do the same for him. After discovering Bucky's interest in cars, Tony bought him wrecks that they'd restore, then take to isolated parts of New York and race. They took care of each other by accepting the care and trust they each bestowed upon the other. 

It took nearly four years for the team to finally managed to break down the last of his defenses. The day it happened, Tony snapped to awareness and opened his eyes, immediately recognizing the white ceiling of SHIELD’s medical center. Focusing inwards, he took stock of his injuries, feeling the nanobots in his blood fixing five broken ribs on his left side, a fractured pelvis, multiple breaks in his left arm and a cracked skull with a nearly healed brain contusion as well as substantial damage to the suit. As he regained consciousness, he began processing the data that had accumulated in the 24 hours he’d been unconscious, re-watching his memories of being smashed out of the air by the tail of a dinosaur which had been set loose in Central Park. Tapping into security footage, he sped through the remainder of the fight, checking to ensure he was the only person to have gotten seriously hurt. He looked around at the room, finding it disappointingly empty of everything but beeping machines. He was alone. Sighing, Tony mentally turned the machines off, before gingerly removing the IVs and catheter and sliding out of bed. His legs trembled, but held as he stood, ensuring his hospital gown was tied tight around his waist. If he could get to an exit he could fly back home. He just needed to get back to the Tower so he could feel safe while he was healing. He managed to stumble to the door, silently sliding it open a crack and peering through into the darkened waiting room, ready to fight his way through any nurses guarding his exit. Instead he froze. 

Each member of the Avengers was in the waiting room. Clean and bandaged, they were scattered throughout the space, sprawled over chairs, sofas and the floor, all fast asleep. Waiting for him. Tony slid the door open and immediately Bucky’s eyes snapped open from his place guarding the exit. 

“You’re awake.” The rest of the Avengers immediately woke, the still tranquillity of the scene evaporating as Natasha turned on the lights. Bucky picked up a duffel bag which had been lying next to him. “We brought some clothes. Figured you’d want to get dressed and get home as soon as you could.” He threw the bag across the room to Steve who had taken the chair closest to Tony’s door. Steve walked past Tony, who still stood frozen in the doorway, placing the bag on the bed. 

“You aren’t going to make me stay here longer?” Tony asked, face carefully blank, hiding his confusion. 

“Fuck no man. Fuck Medical.” Clint grinned, twisting to look at Tony from the floor. Thor laughed, helping pull Clint to his feet. 

“Your recovery is on track; all your scans look good. We can look after you just as well back home.” Bruce offered. Tony just stared at them for a moment, overwhelmed by how well they knew him. 

“I love you guys,” Tony blurted, the words spilling out. Everyone smiled. 

“We love you too Tony.” Natasha replied. “Go get dressed, the Quinjet is waiting to take us home.”


End file.
